


under every yellow moon, by your side i sweat and swoon

by getmean



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: First time (with each other), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, basically snafu goading eugene into the perfect top for him lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getmean/pseuds/getmean
Summary: Eugene’s never considered himself a good actor. Snafu, though? Eugene glances to him, not hearing the words coming out of his mouth but reading his expression well enough. The way his eyes linger on the photograph as he hands it back, like he can’t bear to look away from the woman in the print.He’d looked at Eugene like that, after he’d kissed him.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	under every yellow moon, by your side i sweat and swoon

**Author's Note:**

> so this was a commission for the galaxy-brained patron of the sledgefu arts robin, who very graciously decided to share the wealth and have this posted to ao3 too :~~) i really hope you enjoy this, and hope it spices up the old lockdown lmaoo! i had a lot of fun writing this, PWP is always such an experience
> 
> oh, this is set in peking just after the war!

Their drinking is done at a GI bar not far from their barracks; a dim wood-panelled building not much bigger than Eugene’s bedroom at home, with a jukebox pumping out American rock ’n roll into the cobbled streets. Him, Snafu, Burgie and Bill; the straggling remainder of what had been their little gang back in Japan. A couple other guys too, guys from all over who got unlucky enough to have a few extra months tacked on to their time as well. Eugene’s too tired these days to make new friends. Instead he keeps his head down, he does his daytime patrols, and he lets as loose in the evenings as he dares.

Tonight the evening is purple and chilly, just that hint of cold to the air which signals that winter is rapidly approaching. They’re sat outside the bar despite it, because the inside is loud and low-ceilinged and smoky, and outside they can talk as loud as they like. 

Bill is taking centre stage as usual, talking loud and fast as he counts on his fingers. “What is it, three months? Two? Boys, we’re on the home-fuckin’-run.”

They’re talking about how much time there is between this second right now, sat amongst the spidery cluster of chairs and tables at the front of the bar, and the second they set foot back on American soil. Eugene isn’t participating. Eugene is drinking his beer, and looking at Snafu. 

It’s a place he finds himself a lot, lately. He’ll be doing something normal and then get caught up in how the breeze moves Snafu’s long-and-growing-longer curls, and tune out of conversation in favour of that instead. One month ago, Snafu had been drunk as a fucking sailor, and had cornered him and kissed him in the grungy bathroom of this very bar. Two weeks ago, Eugene had rode the hard shape of Snafu’s cock through his clothes, and had cum hot and shameful in his underwear as Snafu had clutched at him and panted in his ear. 

Eugene drains his beer. To his left, Bill jostles the table, sending all the beers sloshing, and Snafu lunges across the space between his beer and where he’s lounging like a cat in his chair, to save it.

“You clumsy bastard,” he cries, beer dripping down his bony wrist as he collapses back into his seat. “Leyden, whoever armed you with a fuckin’ rifle is dumber than you are.”

Snafu’s not wearing enough clothes for the sudden cold turn the weather has taken; he’s still caught in that balmy heat of Japan three months ago. Eugene had been too, for a time, but then like everyone else he’d wised up and learned to put a coat on for their evening drinks. Snafu is yet to wise up. Eugene can see the bumps of his dog tags beneath his thin t-shirt, and — shamefully — can’t stop looking at where his nipples are hard through the fabric too. It’s holding a fair amount of his focus right now, while the other half is trying to work out how best he can offer Snafu his coat without Snafu making fun of him. He doesn’t think he can.

With that decided, Eugene stands. “Gonna grab another,” he tells the group, but they’re back on the topic of returning home, as they have been for months, and his words fall on deaf ears. Only Snafu seems to hear him; flashing him a bright, bird-like glance from under his curls as Eugene passes the back of his chair. 

“Hey.” His hand catches at Eugene’s wrist; cold and a little damp from the condensation on his beer. “Grab me one?” 

His thumb presses to Eugene’s pulse. That lavender twilight makes his eyes look more blue than green; big and playful and unerring on Eugene’s face, which feels like it’s burning up despite the chill in the air. Eugene feels his mouth move on a _sure_ but no sound comes out. Snafu grins; a quick flash of his teeth, and then turns back to the conversation at the table. Eugene slips inside, into the belly of the bar; old wood and that dusty, overheating fan smell, warm to the rafters from all the bodies clustered at the tables, milling on the dance floor with small, dark-eyed women. Eugene imagines pulling Snafu into all this, letting the crowd shift them closer and closer together until the way they’re dancing together won’t look strange at all. He imagines Snafu’s eyes flashing at him through the dim yellow lighting, the way his mouth will open on a laugh the room is too loud to hear —

“Beer?” 

Eugene startles back into the present, finding himself face to face with the sullen bartender, hand already on the tap, cloudy glass braced under it. Eugene nods, jerkily.

“Two. Please.”

When Eugene circles his dreamy way back to the table outside, the topic of conversation has shifted, though only somewhat. 

“Burg, I know you gotta girl waitin’ on you,” Snafu drawls, absently taking the beer that Eugene hands him as he lounges in his seat, knee pulled up to his chest. “Bet you can’t wait to get back for a good fuck.” 

Burgie, red-faced, just rolls his eyes and lights another cigarette. “I don’t know, Snaf.”

“Two years all pent up,” Bill says, with relish. “Wish I was comin’ home to that.”

“Can’t beat a fuck from a girl who’s been missin’ you,” someone throws in, a guy Eugene doesn’t recognise. He digs in the breast pocket of his coat, drawing out a battered photograph which he shows proudly to the men closest to him. “This is what I’ve got at home, boys.” Bill makes a noise, eyes bugging out of his head at whatever the photo shows. 

Eugene doesn’t heave himself up from his chair to have a look like the rest of the guys; he’s never been good at hiding his feelings once he’s got a couple beers in his stomach. Feels like it all shows up on his face. And it must do, because how else had Snafu known to follow him through to the bathrooms to kiss him if he hadn’t been able to read Eugene’s want for it? It frustrates him, sometimes, how easily Snafu seems to be able to play pretend with the other guys, though maybe the person Eugene’s more frustrated at is himself. Eugene’s never considered himself a good actor. Snafu, though? Eugene glances to him, not hearing the words coming out of his mouth but reading his expression well enough. The way his eyes linger on the photograph as he hands it back, like he can’t bear to look away from the woman in the print. 

He’d looked at Eugene like that, after he’d kissed him. Eyes stuck to him like glue. Eugene had been able to feel it hot on the nape of his neck as they’d exited the bathroom together. That pale, hawk-like gaze. Eugene sinks lower in his chair, clutching his beer to his chest as he averts his gaze. The conversation continues, only they’re back to teasing Burgie now. Eugene knows it’s only a matter of time before it’s his turn.

When he glances to Snafu, he finds the man watching him, cigarette dangling from his lip and something decidedly devilish in the line of his smirk. “What about you, Gene?” he asks, as their eyes meet, and Eugene bares his teeth at him as he realises Snafu’s intentions. “You’ve been awful quiet. Got no-one waitin’ on you?”

 _You know I don’t_ , he wants to counter with, but knows that’d be a strange, intimate thing to say. Instead he mutters, “I don’t,” as quick as he can, jerking his chin up in some silent plea for Snafu to shut the fuck up. But Eugene is yet to have found an off-switch for the man, and has a sneaking suspicion that one doesn’t even exist. He can practically feel the wicked amusement rolling off Snafu in waves, and sighs inwardly as Snafu’s attention swings back to the table at large.

“Who else thinks Sledgehammer’s a virgin?” he asks, to laughter. Eugene just rolls his eyes, and takes a long drink of his beer. Snafu, undeterred by Eugene’s silence, carries on. “You’d probably cum in your pants the minute a girl kissed you, huh?”

Okay, that one stung. Eugene kicks Snafu under the table in retaliation. _You did too_ , he tries to tell Snafu with just his eyes, but he just winks, tongue caught between his front teeth. 

“Nah,” Leyden says, leaning over the table to leer at Eugene. “He wouldn’t get that far.”

Snafu hums, thoughtfully, while a couple other guys snicker. Burgie is studying his book of matches like it holds the secrets to the universe. “You’re right, Bill, Sledgehammer’s a savin’-himself-for-marriage-type if I ever saw one.”

Eugene is staring so hard at the side of Snafu’s head he doesn’t know how he doesn’t feel it. “Shut up,” he hears himself say, frustration bubbling up and over. “Jesus, Snaf, you ever get sick and tired of runnin’ your damn mouth?”

Snafu smiles at him, delighted, and internally Eugene groans. To his side, Bill says, “He’s protestin’ too much.” 

Eugene rounds on him. “I said one thing!” 

He’s met with Bill’s grinning face, and Snafu’s distinctive loud bark of a laugh. It’s useless to argue, Eugene knows, so he sinks back into his chair and lights himself a cigarette, eyes on on the glowing end of it as he feels Snafu gear up to another jab next to him. It’s not malicious. Maybe that’s why Eugene is more annoyed than upset; he can feel the amusement coming off of Snafu from where he’s sat. The guy loves to know something that everyone else doesn’t. 

But then Snafu says, “Good Christian son of a doctor wouldn’t know a fuck if he was right in the middle of it.” His eyes glitter in the twilight, slouched leonine in his chair like the lord of it all. Eugene hates the pulse of attraction that goes through him as Snafu’s eyelids dip just slightly, and his mouth curls in a smirk as he notices Eugene staring. “All bumpin’ noses and sayin’ sorry, huh, Gene?” 

And Eugene says nothing, just lets the flow of half-drunk conversation turn the topic away, but in the back of his mind a plan is hatching, and he lets it. 

————

It takes a couple nights until Eugene can put the plan in motion. He has to figure out first at what time the barracks will be most deserted, though he abandons that idea as quickly as it came. The barracks are a long, rectangular stone building across the yard from the mess hall; rows and rows of bunks with no interruption or privacy but the darkness of night. And there’s always a couple guys in there, no matter what weird times Eugene pokes his head in. Breakfast, dinner; always some guy sat on his bunk writing a letter or holding his head in his hands. 

So he shifts the plan. Re-orients himself. Catches Snafu by the wrist one night before dinner and murmurs, “Shower block, after lights-out.” 

The smirk that settles itself onto Snafu’s face is smug. “Is this about what I was sayin’ the other night at the bar?” 

Eugene opens his mouth, and then shuts it. Snafu is looking at him like the cat who got the cream. “Maybe,” he says, and then, “Was that on purpose?” 

Snafu shrugs languidly, glancing away across the yard as someone emerges from the barracks. They break apart. “If I’d sat around waitin’ on you to make the first move, we’d be goin’ home wanting,” he murmurs, eyes following the man as he walks past them into the mess hall. He swings his gaze onto Eugene, and smiles. “You gonna prove me wrong for what I said?” 

_Is this just a fling?_ Eugene thinks. But out of his mouth comes, “I’m plannin’ on it,” to which Snafu laughs.

“Fine,” he says, and pauses to light a cigarette. The lamps outside of the mess hall catch the smoke in a halo about his curls; overlong and growing longer. Eugene’s heart is beating double-time in his chest, desire clawing the back of his throat up something terrible as Snafu touches his fingertips to the inside of his bare arm, and adds, “After lights-out, I’ll be there.”

He ducks into the mess hall before Eugene can get a chance to reply, and then his evening is lost to distraction, to meeting Snafu’s eye across the room, to nursing a half-chub in his pants that he hopes no-one notices. He can’t help it. Eugene’s been thinking about this since he and Snafu had rubbed off on each other like the stupid teenagers they used to be; thinking about Snafu pressed up against his front, Eugene’s teeth at his nape and his dick buried inside him. Even thinking it is making him feel flushed. 

The shower block is cold, and dark, and echoey. The distant drip of water, the faint smell of chlorine. It’s not the most romantic place but any port in a storm, right? Eugene smokes a tense cigarette lingering right in the doorway, and when Snafu saunters his way in Eugene catches him by the waist, and feels his heart leap at the flash of his grin under the moonlight.

“You’re late,” he says.

Snafu sways into him, hands immediately attaching to Eugene’s hip, his waist. “I don’t have a watch.”

He’s not lying. It’s one of the things their CO would always chew him out about. 

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to show me?” Snafu asks, once the silence stretches a beat too long. The moonlight catches on his teeth. “Or have you gone all shy like I said you would?”

His voice is sly, perfectly designed to rile Eugene up. Snafu’s always been a good read of him, but Eugene doesn’t know whether that says more about Snafu or himself. Still, his remark does what he’d intended it to do; Eugene clenches his fists at his side, and bites back with, “You know better than anybody none of that is true.”

Silence. Mocking, challenging silence. Just the dripping pipes and the distant rumble of the nighttime city. “Do I?” Snafu breathes, and his laughter bounces too-loud off the walls when Eugene uses the hold he has on Snafu’s waist to push him against the cold tiles. The moonlight hits his face now, slanted in through one of the tiny, high-set windows, and Eugene sees him shiver by it, a full-body thing. His eyes are bright in his face, and just as he opens his mouth to make some smart-ass comment, Eugene interrupts him, shuts him up with a kiss that’s as biting and wild as the wolf in Eugene’s chest is. 

Snafu makes a satisfied noise low in his chest as Eugene grips at him, his hands sinking deep in Eugene’s hair to hold him in place. Not that Eugene would go anywhere. He doesn’t even think being discovered could tear him away from Snafu, every inch of their bodies pressed up against each other, Snafu sighing and making pleased noises against Eugene’s mouth as his fingers curl at his jaw. 

It had been like this the first time. Like a switch flipped, like Snafu had reached into Eugene’s ribcage and twisted something to make him feel set to leap out of his skin with want. Or maybe it’s Eugene; maybe he’s as drawn to this as Snafu seems to be led to it. He goes easily when Eugene tugs at him, pliant as a kitten, doe-eyes huge and dark and burning as he lets Eugene back him into a shower cubicle and press him to the wall there.

“Well, what are you gonna do to me?” he purrs, lounging against the tiles, because Snafu may go easily but that doesn’t mean his mouth stays shut when he does. He laughs when Eugene crowds him back against the wall, tilting the crown of his head back against it so their eyes meet. Those barest inches of difference in height always mean the most like this.

Eugene kisses him. Then he murmurs, “Get on your knees,” and Snafu sinks down to the floor with a grin on his face that becomes shuttered, as he moves into shadow. 

The only sound is the pop of Eugene’s button fly, the shifting of fabric, their heavy breaths bouncing off the tiled walls. Somewhere absent and deep-down, Eugene knows he should feel bad for this. If his mother knew he was coaxing another man closer by a hand on the back of his head, mouth open like he’s about to take sacrament, she’d keel over and die on the spot. But she doesn’t know. Nobody knows, but him, and Snafu, and God, presumably. Though Eugene hopes He is looking away as Snafu’s fingers curl in the fabric of Eugene’s pants, bunched up under his balls, eyes flicking up as he takes Eugene deep into his mouth.

The first touch of his tongue is electric; Eugene has to brace a hand to the slick wall to steady himself, and doesn’t miss the pleased gleam that Snafu’s eyes take on at that. Then Eugene’s hand comes down to fist in his curls, to drag him closer until Eugene doesn’t know the end of himself to the start of Snafu. His dick pressed into the slick warmth of Snafu’s throat, his nose pressed to the hair between Eugene’s legs, something reverent and glazed in his eyes that has Eugene only wanting to fuck him deeper. It’s a far cry from grinding off against each other in some noisy bathroom; though the fear of getting caught fuels Eugene just so slightly. Makes him fuck into Snafu’s throat more urgently, makes him bite at his own lip until he can taste blood in a vain attempt to keep quiet. They’re not doing a good job at it. The shower block echoes with their panting, with slick noises, with Snafu’s muffled moaning. 

“You take it so good,” Eugene breathes, pulling Snafu off his dick with the hand in his hair, watching as his eyes slip closed. The light has shifted; casting everything in that pale blue of moonlight. It picks up the swollen, wet pout of Snafu’s mouth, soft against the hard angles of his face. Eugene’s hand is moving to grip Snafu’s chin before he knows it, angling his face up so Eugene can see him better. Snafu’s eyes drift open, looking hazy, drunken. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile, and Eugene presses his thumb to the fat middle of his top lip, still holding him in place with the grip on his chin. “You want more?” he asks, and at this point he doesn’t have to even pretend. The desire to press Snafu down and make him see just how bold he can be is coming second nature to Eugene now. It’s something in the submissive slump of Snafu’s shoulders, the open set of his body language and the way he eagerly sucks at Eugene’s thumb when he presses it into Snafu’s mouth.

But Snafu is still Snafu, and so when he bites at Eugene’s thumb just to make him whip it away, Eugene knows he shouldn’t be so surprised. Snafu laughs, shit-eating. “If you’ve got more,” he murmurs, voice rough, and rakes a hand through his hair to fix where Eugene had messed it up. “I’m still waitin’ on you provin’ me wrong.”

“Come up here and lemme prove it then,” Eugene says, and presses himself up against Snafu once he rises up, nosing at his jaw as he makes short work of the other man’s fly. Eugene can feel him hard up against his hip, grinding off on him in tiny, desperate movements, so absentminded that Eugene is sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. “Look at you,” Eugene murmurs, tracing his thumb down the trail of hair at the vee of Snafu’s open fly, coming to rest against the base of his hard dick. “Hard like this just from suckin’ me off, huh?” 

Snafu shrinks back against the wall, pushing his hips up into Eugene’s touch as he looks up at him, devastatingly louche in that white tee with the torn collar, with his hair falling in his eyes. “Touch me,” is all he says, and the tiled room echoes it back. 

When Eugene curls his fingers around him, Snafu lets his head fall back, and the want in Eugene’s chest grows more teeth. 

They rock together, for longer than they need to and longer than they should, but the illusion of privacy is heady, and Eugene can’t help but sink into it. It feels indulgent, to be able to press his face into Snafu’s hair, to smell him, to whisper all the dirty things that have been rattling around his head ever since they’d kissed. To have Snafu kiss at his throat, grip at his bicep, moan soft and low in his ear. Eugene tells him about wanting to cum raw in his ass, wanting to rub off against his dick, wanting Snafu’s cum on his face, and Snafu answers each one with a moan that sounds like it’s been pulled from the deepest parts of him. Eugene’s mouth feels dry with want, his voice husky like he was the one swallowing around a dick in his throat. When Snafu turns to press his face to the tiles and his ass to Eugene’s hips, the arousal that sparks through him is enough to make him gasp, make his dick twitch against the bare curve of Snafu’s ass.

An exploratory touch has Snafu laughing, wiggling back on Eugene’s fingers, which had slipped inside with an ease that had made him pause. “Thought I’d cut down on time,” he murmurs, throatily, humming as Eugene’s fingers flex inside his ass. “Prepped myself earlier.”

“You —” Eugene almost calls him something awful, and then backs away from it. “You got any more lube?” he says instead, and Snafu relaxes back against his chest with a sigh.

“Go fish,” he murmurs, and laughs heartily when Eugene shoves him back against the wall by a hand to the small of his back. “My pants, Gene.”

“You’re awful,” Eugene mutters, bending down to fish the tub of Vaseline from Snafu’s pocket. “Do you know that?”

“Hm, tell me again,” Snafu purrs, tipping his head back against Eugene’s shoulder as he slots himself back behind him, slicking up his dick as he presses his cheek to Snafu’s ear.

“You’re terrible,” he murmurs, too distracted to make it sound even close to dirty like he knows Snafu wants. Eugene should’ve called him that word he bit back on. Snafu would’ve got a real fucking kick out of it — a quick glance down Snafu’s body shows his dick hard and gripped loosely in his fist. Yeah, he would’ve got a real kick out of it. 

As it is, the word doesn’t resurface, because Eugene is pressing into the heat of Snafu’s body, and Snafu is taking him so easy thanks to his diligent prep-work that Eugene couldn’t have found a word — any word — if he tried. All he can do is press his forehead to Snafu’s shoulder and moan right alongside him, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of it. Snafu throws a hand back to scrabble against Eugene’s hip, urging him deeper into his ass he pants out desperate little noises against the tiles Eugene has him pressed bodily to. He can’t help it. The wolf in his chest just wants to pin Snafu down and — Eugene doesn’t even know. He tests his teeth to Snafu’s nape, hand pressed hard to the flatness of Snafu’s belly, and together they melt.

Again, Eugene can’t find his end or Snafu’s beginning. He’s not even sure he wants to try. 

And then, “Fuck me,” Snafu says, and Eugene presses into him so deep he hears the breath leave Snafu’s lungs. So he keeps doing it, over and over until he’s sweating despite the cool evening air, and knows Snafu is too because he can smell it. Can smell his arousal; so different from that fear-stink of war that Eugene’s become so accustomed to on him. No, this is different. Eugene presses his nose to Snafu’s neck just to chase it, to feel the moans shuddering up through Snafu’s throat to echo off the tiled walls. Just the slap of skin and his voice, Eugene’s hand on his nape and at his hip, pressing him against the wall so he’s nothing but something warm to fuck away at. And Eugene tells him that, whispers it low and filthy in his ear just to grin at how Snafu moans at it. 

“You like that?” he breathes, looking down just to see himself pumping away in Snafu’s ass. Spreads Snafu’s just to see it better. Eugene’s never seen Snafu so pliant. Gone is the biting acerbic amusement that had peppered the early parts of this; instead he’s flat to the wall and moaning, taking everything Eugene can give him, seemingly completely happy to close his eyes to get bit at and fucked at as much as Eugene pleases. Every time Eugene wonders about someone finding them like this, he swears his dick gets harder. His hand keeps slipping in the sweat springing up on Snafu’s skin. When he tugs at one of Snafu’s nipples, he makes a sound so pretty Eugene couldn’t stop doing it if he tried. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Eugene breathes into the sweat at the crook of Snafu’s neck, because hell — it’s been a long time and that teenage grinding session barely counts. He barely has time to feel embarrassed about his own lack of stamina, because one tug at Snafu’s dick has him shuddering, Eugene’s hand wet with Snafu’s cum as he jerks him through his orgasm, muttering, “You’re so good, that’s right,” into Snafu’s ear as he moans and shivers and sighs.

“Cum in me,” Snafu manages, face pressed to the tiles but only because Eugene is holding him there, growing more selfish as his stomach tightens up with the beginnings of his own orgasm. The wolf in his chest has so many teeth it hurts. All he wants to do is bury himself in Snafu and give him enough that he won’t joke about him over drinks ever again. 

So Eugene grips at Snafu’s hair, his fist in all those soft, sweet curls, and kisses at his neck because fuck, he’s not felt like this for someone ever. Never in his life. Not wanted to prove himself, not wanted someone to feel better than even he does when he’s fucking them. Snafu is whimpering, a sound so unlike him that Eugene has to rear back to look at him, to check it’s still him. Face contorted into that pain-pleasure expression, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Eugene pounds him harder, thinks about all the times Snafu’s turned him on and all the times he’s frustrated him, and comes in his ass with a moan that could probably be heard in the barracks, if anyone was awake to hear it.

Afterwards, they settle. All the vague aggression of their sex gone. Snafu goes away to the toilets, and then comes back, and they both share a cigarette sat hip-to-hip on the floor of the same shower stall they had sex in.

“I wanna do that again,” Snafu murmurs, at the same time as Eugene says, “Fuck, I could’ve kept going forever.”

They laugh, and share the silence. Smoke drifting up to the ceiling, blue against the moonlight. Eugene kisses Snafu, tenderly, knocking their brows together before they part.

“How am I gonna go to bed, after this?” Eugene asks, and Snafu snorts.

“Just like every other night,” he murmurs.

A few days later, they head to their normal bar, and order their normal drinks, make their normal jokes. Peking is colder around them now, blue-lit evenings sinking faster than before. And Snafu makes no noise about Eugene, only throws him pleased little glances that Eugene buries down deep to remember forever.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!!


End file.
